Page 117 of The Wedding Crush

Honestly, I think she saw through my walls even before I knew I’d put them up.

“I’m getting there,” I say, after a beat.

Like she always seems to know how to calm me, she slips her hand in mine, sending cool relief spiraling down my back. She steadies me. In a world where I’d found myself adrift, she anchors me.

Leaning in, I press my lips to her forehead. For a beat, I linger, letting her sweet floral scent band around me.

At the end of the aisle, Valerie responds to Everett’s stellar pining and courting acting skills that ended with him on one knee, with an exuberant yes.

As they bow and curtsy, Chiara appears, arm in arm with Jameson at my side.

“Watch and learn,” she says.

Then the music plays.

They take the aisle with Earth, Wind & Fire’s nostalgic and apt “September,” instantly reviving the crowd. Even though, in my opinion, their montage of hip thrusts and Hustle steps won’t likely take the medal, it’s a soul classic. Between Frankie Beverly and Maze, and Earth, Wind & Fire, it’s almost offensive to our ancestors not to honor this song with dancing and singing.

Jameson twirls and spins Chiara until they’re almost to the arch.

“We’ve got this. Ready?” Avery asks as we take our places.

I suck in a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs. As I slowly release it through my nose, I steel myself for the next thirty seconds.

“Always, when I’m with you.”

Avery fists the fabric of her dress.

Then the music starts.

Out the gate, Avery and I are an explosion of bouncing, hard-hitting beats to “Let’s Get Married” by Jagged Edge. In sync, we pop, lock, and break, throwing in everything from the Dougie and the Running Man to Krumping, the Jerk, and the Cabbage Patch.

How, in a diamond-encrusted, off-the-shoulder lavender maid of honor gown Avery commands the spotlight, I don’t know. But she top rocks. She back rocks. She power moves with the best of them. And the fast footwork in heels?

Amazing.

“Let’s get married!” The deejay goads the guests to sing along.

Before the first eight-count ends, it’s officially a party.

Dante and Enzo walk out from the right of arch, dancing along with the guests as he makes his way to the arch. The rest of the wedding party is following our moves. Even as Dylan’s four-year-old daughter, Danielle, peppers the aisle with flower petals and Ace holds the satin pillow with the rings tied to it like a champ, the deejay looks like he wants Enzo to hurry up and officiate this ceremony, so we can get to the reception.

“Ayyy…” The deejay hypes us up on the mic. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a hand to our wedding party. Then stay on your feet. It’s the time we’ve all been waiting for…”

At his cue, a guest seated in the back steps out from the rows of chairs with a violin. It’s not a string quartet or an orchestra, just a single instrument. But as she lifts it to her chin and gently glides the bow against it, I don’t hear the music.

I feel every word of “I Will Always Love You.”

While every pair of eyes is trained on Morgan in her white dress gracefully marching toward Dante, I can’t take mine off Avery.

Sometimes, I still don’t know how I got so lucky.

Two months ago, my confidence wasn’t simply knocked. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to explore new sexual, let alone romantic relationships. Then the woman who I thought was Morgan’s overprotective, Rubik’s cube, mind-boggling best friend burst into my life like a rainbow cannonball. I thought she was too young, too immature, and I wasn’t ready to start again. I was listening to ridiculous, problematic podcasts try to learn what this woman taught me in a matter of weeks.

No two loves are the same, so there’s no comparing where we’ve been with where we’re going together. There’s no best time to fall in love. No prescribed number of days or years because it can’t be measured in time, only timing and readiness.

My heart lurches.

I look out at our mothers, friends, and family—and the Gossip Set—aware and watching, and I can’t imagine a future without Avery and Ace, and the blessing growing inside her.

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